Unwelcome
by Engelska
Summary: Marceline McCough dreams of being sucked into Middle-Earth and making the journey from The Shire to The Lonely Mountain with Thorin and his company. But when her dream is finally realized and she's drawn by unknown means into the land she so loved, she soon discovers that the journey is not all picnics and sunshine as she was led to believe. Now all she wants is to go home.
1. Beginnings

Fanfiction. As an seventeen-year old girl, it was a surprise to no-one that I spent many quiet evenings reading pieces of fan-written literature when I could have been doing other things, such as finishing my homework or chatting with my friends. It was almost expected, in this day and age. But while it was no surprise, some part of me felt somewhat embarrassed to be found reading it. Perhaps it's reputation for rather inappropriate content, poorly written stories or amateurish grammar caused the redness to rise to my cheeks whenever my mother or brother peered over my shoulder and said, "_Oh, reading fanfiction again?_"

I didn't read fanfiction for the risque content or for creative, original stories. No. I came for a different reason entirely. Hundreds upon hundreds of fanfictions are about normal girls like myself being whisked away into the stories, living a new and adventurous lived surrounded by wonderful characters. And that is what I craved. Perhaps I was embarrassed to be found wanting more than what I had, or could ever have. Is it really so strange, to crave an exciting life? Don't tell me you've never dreamt about piloting a fighter jet from Star Wars and bringing down the Death Star. Don't tell me you've never dreamt about discovering your own Narnia, and becoming Queen or King of a mystical land. Don't tell me you've never dreamt you were in a new exciting world, being whisked away on all kinds of adventures. We've all had those dreams, but we've all had to accept that they will never take place.

My life in total was a boring affair. I woke in the mornings at six. Showered and sucked down breakfast before racing off for the bus. I would spend all day in school struggling to keep up, then ride the bus home once more to do homework, eat, then sleep, and awake only to repeat the process. I had few friends, since I am one who can be described as 'anti-social'. There was nothing wrong with my social skills, I simply preferred to spend my time alone.

As I write this, I now see why fanfiction was such a good escape from daily tedium. My life was not exciting, and living through the eyes of another character was about as close as I could get to having my own adventures with the characters I loved.

Now, please don't believe I had a fanfiction addiction. I had hobbies. I enjoyed gossiping with what few friends I had and I was, if I do say so myself, a blooming writer. At most times, a novel sat half-finished upon my desk. I did fine in school and was considering my future in a college for social anthropology. But non of that could distract my mind from the wonderful adventures I could be having.

I was sitting on my bed one evening, reading a story about a girl who disappeared into the land of The Hobbit. I was a huge fan of the book, and the movies were some of my absolute favorites. I could not think of a more perfect world to visit. Middle-Earth, where the elves live deep in their glowing woods and men sit drinking late into the night. Where dragons hoard gold and hobbits curl up in their holes on cold winter nights.

There was a knock on my door, "Come in," I called, looking up from my computer screen.

My mum stuck her head in and gave me a smile, "You'll want to head to bed soon, love. School tomorrow."

I nodded, looking longing down at the words on my screen. "Ten more minutes," I said, "Then I'll go to bed. 'Kay?"

My mum nodded and said, "Goodnight, dear," before withdrawing her head and closing the door quietly.

Eagerly I jumped back into my story. The girl in said story, who was the same age as myself, was valiantly fighting off an orc when finally I closed my computer and set it aside. My eyelids would no longer stay open. I slid down and nestled into my blankets, clicking off the light by my bedside table.

A crack in my window shades revealed the night sky outside, but the light pollution kept all but the brightest stars from being seen. Once I had gone camping with my family out in the boondocks of Utah where lights were few and far between. Both the moon and the myriad of stars were enough to see by, and the Milky Way stretched across the sky like a smear of chalk. It was bewitching.

I wanted to see those stars every night. I was sure that such stars could be seen in Middle Earth. In fact, many tales were told about Middle Earth's stars. They must have been beautiful for the elves to write such songs and tales and love them so. I wanted to see them. Oh how I wanted to lay in the grass and star up at Middle-Earth's stars, and sing songs with the elves and chant with the dwarves, to hike with the men and women and feast with the hobbits.

But I knew deep in my veins that it could never be, no matter how hard I wished.

If only I had known then what I know now. Now, years later, I wonder how things could have been different. If I had known, so many hardships could have been avoided; so many sorrows could have been spared. But alas, I cannot change time.

And that is where I will begin my story.


	2. In a Hole in the Ground

I was cold. Goosebumps rose over my flesh and I awoke shivering. Something was wrong. I peeled open my eyes and rubbed them furiously as if trying to brush away the heavy sleepiness that clung to my lashes. When my vision finally cleared, I scowled, squinted, blinked then looked again. My God. There were stars above me. Hundreds upon thousands of stars brighter than any I had ever seen flowing and bedazzling the night sky above me. But wait. No. That wasn't right. Unless I had been sleep walking and wandered outside, there could not have been stars above my head, and sleep walking had never been a problem for me. My window shades had been closed, and the world around me seemed far too real to be a dream. I propped myself up on an elbow and immediately glanced down, then around in utter bewilderment. I was lying on grass. I was stretched out on a grassy knoll with stars above my head and a cold breeze flowing around me. I bolted upright, scrambling to my feet as my heart began to race.

"What the _hell_...?" I asked myself. I was not usually the cursing type, but all thoughts of decency were flung out of my mind as I stood and took in the view around me. My stomach knotted and my knees felt weak. Adrenaline began to pump through my system and any trace of sleepiness was flung away into the wind. All around me grassy hills glowed dully in the silver moonlight, fading off into the sky. Spots of yellow light dotted the hills here and there and I soon realized they were little windows. My mind reeled, and I could not think straight. Where the hell was I? I took a deep breath and forced myself to start from the beginning. I had fallen asleep in my bed. I had been reading that Hobbit fanfiction. Could I actually be dreaming? I pinched myself viciously in the arm to no avail. I did no awake, and all I got for my troubles was a bruise. As I said before, the world around me was far too life-like to be a dream, and yet too impossible to be reality.

I sat back down, quite unsure what to do. I must have walked far, if I had sleep-walked. It was the only plausible theory, unless I had been kidnapped. Somehow I found the latter unlikely. Who would whisk away a girl only to dump her in a village of hill-houses.

I stopped. Hill-houses. I looked around and yep, there it was. Set deep in a nearby hill was a perfectly round door with a knob in the center. I spotted another one a bit further off and then another. Chimneys rose and smoked from these hills, and I could see fences and lines of crops and a dirt road barely visible in the darkness. I put my hand over my mouth, my breathing ragged and far too quick. This was The Shire. I was in _the freaking Shire_. That was it. I was dreaming. There was no other way around it. I was in The Shire, and I had to be dreaming.

I got to my feet once more and squinted around to get my bearings. Well, if it was a dream I might as well take advantage of it. It wasn't every night that I got to visit Middle-Earth. I slipped and slid down the dewy hill to the dirt road, my bare feet landing painfully on the sharp gravel. I peered down at myself. I was still in my pajamas; embarrassingly short shorts and a loose tank-top, all of a pastel olive green. I shrugged and set off down the road to where I knew Bilbo's house to be. Surely my clothing wouldn't matter.

After a few short minutes of walking my feet hurt and I was chilled to the bone, but I was happy. My eyes were adjusting to the darkness and I could see the beautiful, luscious gardens of flowers and vegetables that grew around each door. Crickets and night birds sang all around me, and occasionally the dark form of a bat would swoop through the sky, snapping up it's meal of mosquitoes and gnats. Finally I stood before the gate of Bag End, the little home where it all began. I carefully opened the little gate and closed it behind me, padding up the stone steps to the green, round door with the knob in the middle. The door being smaller than myself, I crouched down and rapped smartly upon the wood. My hands were near numb with cold, but I waited willingly and without grudge.

Finally, the door slowly opened and a widening crack of light spilled out to the night beyond, blinding me momentarily. The scents of food and alcohol and smoke twined around my nostrils as a dwarf poked his head out into the night, a pipe wedged firmly between his teeth. A cap sat upon his head as if in a futile keep his wild, braided pigtails under control. He had a mustache and a well trimmed beard, and a red scarf poked out of his collar.

"I'm sorry, Bilbo is busy but-" Bofur said, his words trailing off as he noticed me. He didn't blush exactly, but he seemed a tad flustered. After a moment of stunned silence, he called back into the house, "Bilbo, Bilbo! You've a lady friend at the door!"

"Oh, no no," I said hurriedly, waving my hands to disperse any uncalled-for notions. "you're mistaken, I'm here to see-" My own words trailed off as Bofur stepped aside, letting Bilbo take his place at the door.

Bilbo took one look at me and blushed a beet red right up to the ears, "Oh, um," he stammered.

"My name is Marceline," I said, stepping forward, tipping a small bow, "At your service."

"Bilbo Baggins at yours," Bilbo Baggins said, his eyes wide.

"Bofur, at yours," Bofur chimed in as well.

"I'm here to see Thorin Oakenshield," I said, peering back into Bilbo's home, "and his company.

Bilbo nodded, recovering from his shock and said, "Please, come in. I've just put the kettle on, if you will stay for tea."

"Yes, that would be lovely. Thank you." Bilbo and Bofur stepped aside, allowing me ample room to enter the small doorway.

I was sure that after the shock of having so many dwarves burst into his home, one girl would seem normal. He was still rather red about the ears, and for the life of me I could not think why. As I followed Bilbo and Bofur though the lovely house, I finally began to appreciate how small hobbits were. I was bent almost double to avoid knocking my head on the ceiling. Bilbo himself was no taller than my kid sister. If we were to stand side by side, he would maybe come up to my ribs. Now, I suppose I was a tad tall, standing at 5'9'', but Bilbo could be no more than three feet tall. Bofur stood a few inches taller than the hobbit, but he was still significantly shorter than myself.

"You have a lovely house, Mr. Bilbo," I said earnestly, "I don't think I've ever seen a more charming home."

Bilbo smiled as we passed through his sitting room, "Thank you, I do apologize for the clutter. I must say I wasn't expecting company. Ah, here we are."

I followed Bilbo and Bofur through a shiny wood doorway into the dining room. A long, polished table made of a light wood filled the center of the room. The occasional mug or dish sat scattered over the table along with a few candles in short, wrought-iron candlesticks. The multitude of small flames sent warm, flickering light dancing over the faces that encircled the table, casting shadows that hung deep in eye sockets and cheekbones.

"Bilbo, who is this?" Asked a voice from within the multitude. There had to have been at least a dozen faces staring at me from the darkened room. It took me a moment to pinpoint the speaker. It was Gandalf. The man sat in the corner of the room, ensconced between two dwarves with a pipe in his hand and a drink before him. "Who have you brought to our table?"

"Her name is Marceline," Bilbo said, "Here seeking Thorin Oakenshield. Am I correct?" He asked, turning to me.

"Yes," I confirmed.

"Marceline, from where do you hail?" Gandalf said, standing. Carefully he began to pick his way through the dining room, doing his best to avoid bumping the dwarves as he came towards me. "Why have you come here at this hour?" His voice was not exactly unkind, but I could not hear any trace of welcome. The dwarves around him were silent and staring.

"I come from a land far away. Very far away. A place called The United States of America."

Gandalf finally disentangled himself from the dwarves and stood beside me. Well, he did not exactly stand. I at least was able to stand upright in the tall dining room, but the tall wizard was forced to stand at a half-crouch. He looked me in the eyes, his piercing grey ones urging me to look away. I did not.

"I've not heard of this place. On whose business do you come? You said you've come to see Oakenshield. Why? Have you a message for him?"

"I come on my own business, Master Gandalf," I said indignantly. "I've come to speak with him about his quest to Erebor. Where is he?" I peered into the dining room, but the blasted candle light offered no clear details as to who was who.

Gandalf reached out and gripped me tightly by the shoulder with one gnarled hand, his fingers digging into my skin. When he spoke, his words were dark and laden with angry power, "Who are you? Who told you of this quest?"

I pushed aside Gandalf's hands, saying, "As I said, I am Marceline, from The United States of America. Where I heard of this quest is not your business, Gandalf, but the business of Oakenshield. Now tell me where I can find him before I get angry!"

The look in Gandalf's eyes was dangerous, but before he could reply the scraping of chair legs drew both his attention and mine. A dark figure rose from his seat, walking slowly towards me.

"You speak wildly, for a _woman_," said Thorin Oakenshield as he came into the light. His blue eyes were cold as steel, but the expression he bore was one of amusement. He was taller than Bofur, but at full height Thorin only came up to my chin. He came to a stop by Gandalf's side, staring me down. "Why have you sought me out, and," here he looked me up and down, "Why are you wearing no clothing?"

Then, with horrifying clarity it struck me. Why Bilbo had been blushing before. Women of this era always wore long, modest dresses and, when sleeping they wore nightgowns. There I was, standing in short-shorts and a tank top that exposed a bit more of my skin than necessary.

I blushed furiously as the dwarves in the dining room chuckled, but I was too indignant at Thorin's words to be embarrassed. "Excuse me?" I said, anger plain in my voice.

"I said," Thorin said, "Who are you, why have you sought me out?"

"I am Marceline, and I know what you seek. You seek to return to your home, deep in The Lonely Mountain," I barked. Surprise overcame Thorin's face, and, encouraged, I continued, "But Smaug keeps you from returning to your home. I know of your quest, Thorin Oakenshield. I know the dangers that will befall you, and I know that if you expect to survive this journey you will want me to accompany you."

"Are you a future teller, then?" Asked Oin, his hearing trumpet planted firmly in his ear.

I thought quickly, "Yes," I said, "I am. I was trained in the great city of Salt Lake by the great High-School Teachers, and my books have shown to me this quest and it's outcome."

From the corner of my eye I saw Gandalf peering at me from under his bushy eyebrows. His expression was unreadable.

"Future teller or not, we do not need a woman in our company," Thorin growled. "You overstep your boundaries in assuming you have any authority in this business."

"I don't know, Thorin. I wouldn't mind having a woman among us," Fili piped up from the back of the room.

The dwarves erupted in raucous laughter, and stopped only when Thorin shouted, "Quiet!" As soon as the room was silent once more, he said, "Go home to your husband. The road is no place for a woman and you'd only slow us down."

My cheeks burned brighter not with embarrassment, but with anger. "Fine, let me prove it to you." I turned to Bilbo, who huddled in a corner doing his best to stay out of the row. "Bilbo, Gandalf came to you yesterday telling of the dwarves arrival, but you forgot. Dwalin," I pointed to the dwarf, "You arrived first until Balin showed up. Thorin, on the way here you got lost twice, leading to your tardiness. From here, you plan to take the east road through Bree, over the Weather Hills and through the TrollShaw Forest. You know Rivendell is in that direction, but you'll not stop there because of your ridiculous grudge against the elves. Gandalf, you know that Mirkwood lies between the dwarves and Erebor, but only you realize the full danger that lies there and are quite unsure as to how you'll make it through alive. Once through, you must either cross the Celduin River or Esgaroth Lake-each is an equally difficult task without boats, and each has their hazards," I stopped for breath, lightheaded from my ranting. "I know of each and every move you'll make. I have spent many years watching your exploits and those of your ancestors, and I can tell you this," I paused dramatically, "If you plan on staying alive, you'll want me to come along."

Gandalf looked at me in confusion, his brows scrunching together above his stoney eyes. Bilbo was speechless, and Thorin was silent for a long time, staring into the hearth. Finally he said grudgingly, "Very well, witch woman. You'll come with us," he raised his eyes to meet mine, "I suppose you'll be wanting payment for your...services?"

I shook my head, "No, Thorin Oakenshield. I don't want any payment, but I do need supplies. I have no clothes, no food."

"I'm sure I can find something for you," Bilbo said, relieved that the conversation moved into an area he was more familiar with, "I have some old clothes stored away. Something is sure to fit you."

As I went to follow Bilbo, Gandalf caught me lightly by the shoulder and said in a low voice, "Marceline, we must speak of this City of Salt Lake and your," he paused, "_Unique abilities_. I've never heard of anything like it."

I nodded and he released me, watching me as I followed Bilbo away into the depths of his house. Behind me the dining room exploded with murmuring and chuckles, and I knew they were talking about me.

As desperately as I tried to hold onto it, my faith in this whole occurrence being nothing but a dream was beginning to fade alarmingly fast. But how could it be anything else?

**Author's Note: Thanks for reading! ^^ **


	3. Bringing a Woman Along

Bag End had many, many rooms; from kitchens to dining rooms to pantries and, of course bedrooms. Each bedroom had a closet, and each closet was filled to bursting with clothing. It took ages and much rummaging for Bilbo to find anything that was near my size. We stood in one bedroom located particularly deep in the maze of Bag End. There were no windows, but one skylight set into the ceiling. Overgrown with grass, vines and flowers, the starlight it let into the room was dappled and dim, but it, along with Bilbo's candle, was enough to see by. Bilbo stood before a large wardrobe of dark wood, pulling handful after handful of clothing out of the closet and tossing it onto the bed for me to inspect. Dust hung heavy in the air and my allergies were driving me nuts, but at last I held up a pair of trousers and a tunic in victory.

"You want those? Are you sure you don't want a dress? I'm sure I can find one in here somewhere..." Bilbo said, peering into the wardrobe's depths.

"Thank you Bilbo, but these will do fine," I shook out the clothes. The pants had either been for a very fat hobbit, or were simply made to be loose and comfortable. The tunic was obviously not made with the diminutive size of hobbits in mind, and so would do nicely. I wondered briefly why Bilbo had it. "Besides," I continued, "I don't think wearing a dress would be convenient for travel."

"Yes, I suppose you're right," He sighed, "I don't know where you come from, and please don't take this as an offense, but women don't often dress in trousers around these parts."

I shrugged as I checked the clothing for holes. Finding none, I folded them neatly and looked Bilbo in the eyes and said, "I don't mind. Where I come from, women wear pants all the time. It's no big deal. Thank you for these, Mr. Bilbo. I'm sorry I've nothing to pay you with."

Bilbo shook his head as we walked down the hallway towards the more inhabited wing of his home, "Pay it no mind, Ms. Marceline." He came to a halt in front of a door and opened it, gesturing for me to enter. "You are free to stay here for the night, if you like."

The room was spacious with a four-poster bed in the center of the room. A round window let a ray of starlight land directly on the pillows. There was a dresser, a chest at the foot of the bed and a small table set with a vase and dried flowers.

"If there's anything you need, please don't hesitate to ask."

"Thank you again, Mr. Bilbo."

Bilbo hesitated at the door and bit his lip, looking at the floor, "Thorin and the rest can be a bit," he hesitated, "ungentlemanly. I feel I must apologize for the way they addressed you."

I walked to the bed, tossing the clothes onto the table. "It's fine, Mr. Bilbo. In my world, things are much different. I suppose I should have expected this." These last words were quiet and mostly meant for myself.

"Sorry?"

"Nothing, please excuse me. I must be more tired than I thought."

And with that, Bilbo left me to my own devices. I found a match on the table and struck it, touching the small flame to the candle that sat beside the bed. The light flared up and the room's detail could clearly be seen. The walls were made of smooth plaster and painted a pastel yellow. The wood was light and polished and not a speck of dust could be seen anywhere.

I lay down on the bed, wrapping the blankets tightly about my chin to warm myself. Exhaustion plagued my bones and leadened my eyes, but sleep wouldn't come. The events of the evening were buzzing through my mind like a whirlwind. What the hell had I gotten myself into? The Hobbit I knew and loved was filled with idyllic adventures. The dwarves were kindly and never spoke foul of anything or anyone. But there I was, in a bed so small I had to curl my knees or let them hang off the mattress. In my pajamas, with no shoes or food or any supplies. And I was pretending to be a fortune-teller just so the sexist, raucous dwarves would bring me along.

I leaned over and blew out the candle. The room was plunged into absolute blackness, but as my eyes adjusted the dim silver starlight became visible.

It took much self-persuasion to continue believing that this whole scenario was a dream. Everything was far too real. My cold feet under the covers, the smooth fabric of the quilt over my chin. The sound of the dwarves' talk down the hall. The exhausted fuzz in my mind.

In the other room, the voices died and a low hum carried through Bag End. The dwarves, singing the lonesome song that I was only too familiar with.

_Far over the Misty Mountains cold, _  
_To dungeons deep, and caverns old. _  
_We must away, ere break of day, _  
_To find our long forgotten gold. _

_The pines were roaring on the heights, _  
_The winds were moaning in the night. _  
_The fire was red, it flaming spread,_  
_The trees, like torches, blazed with light._

The sound was mesmerizing, and finally my eyes closed. As the last baritone note faded, I realized that even though the dwarves were not as gentlemanly or kind as I believed them to be, their quest was still the same. The thirteen of them were out to take back their home, to free it from the claws of Smaug the Powerful who had burned their city and slain their kin. It was an honorable goal, even if those who sought to complete it were jerks.

The voices of the dwarves faded away as they filtered off to bed. With only a chirping cricket outside my window for company, and the dark, earthy scent of pipe smoke in my nostrils, I fell asleep.

Can one dream whilst dreaming? Well, I did.

_My dreams were nothing specific. Mostly colors and feelings. I got the impression of Salt Lake City, my birthplace and home for the past seventeen years of my life. My brother, sister and parents. The warm, comforting scents of home. The whir of my dear computer and the clacking of keys under my fingers_.

* * *

"Marceline!"

I awoke to a barrage of sound as someone knocked furiously on my door.

"Mm?" I said, propping myself up on my elbows, my hair flowing in a wild cloud around my shoulders. When I opened my eyes, my surroundings were unfamiliar. My feet were hanging uncomfortably off the bed and the smell of eggs and bacon and toast wafted tantalizingly under my nose. Then it all came back. I was still in Middle-Earth.

Bilbo knocked again and shouted through the wood, "Marceline, Marceline! They left without us! Those _confounded_ dwarves left without us! We must hurry if we expect to catch up with them!"

I bolted upright, throwing my blankets aside and scrambling hastily for my new clothes. I pulled them on as quickly as I could, cursing myself under my breath. I should have seen it coming. My new trousers, being for a hobbit, fell to the length of my calves. No problem, the weather would be warm enough for now. I drew the drawstring tight about my waist and reached for the tunic. It was of a faded maroon red that I knew would make me look as pale as death. I left my tank top on, and pulled the tunic over top. It was loose with long baggy sleeves and a square neckline. I'd have to scavenge a belt from somewhere, but my ensemble would do well enough for now. It was only then that I noticed I had no shoes or boots of any kind. That would cause me some trouble eventually, but I decided there was no use fretting over and dashed out the door.

Somehow I found my way to the kitchen where Bilbo was hastily packing provisions into two backpacks. I looked about, but no signs of the thirteen dwarves remained.

"Marceline, I've done my best to pack for the two of us, and apologize in advance for any items you may need, but find lacking," Bilbo said breathlessly, buckling the last backpack closed and handing it to me. "I would not ask you to carry this if we were not so pressed for time."

I took the backpack and swung it over my shoulders. The straps were a bit snug, but not uncomfortable, "No, it's okay Mr. Bilbo, I can carry my share."

"Confound it all," Bilbo said harshly, handing me an apple and hunk of bread, "I'm afraid we'll have to eat on the run."

I followed Bilbo out the great green door of Bag End and watched as he closed it lovingly behind him. The journey this little hobbit was about to face would change his life, I realized.

"Lead on, Mr. Bilbo," I said, "If we hurry, we'll catch them before they're over Brandywine Bridge!"

Together we dashed down the path and down the dirt road to the east. Hobbiton was a very different place in the daytime. Hobbits were out and about, watering their gardens and hauling goods off to the markets. They were all small, with large hairy feet and pleasant expressions. They dressed in bright, festive colors. Dresses for the ladies, waistcoats and trousers for the men. The children, impossibly tiny and adorable things, all dressed in loose fitting garments that were dirty at the knees and elbows. All of them gaped at me, oblivious of the rudeness of it. Doubtless they were wondering why a girl was dashing about with the respectable Bilbo Baggins of all people. And she was wearing trousers! How scandalous!

I couldn't help but grin, not minding the attention in the least.

"Bilbo, what are you doing?" Cried one hobbit from behind his little fence.

"Can't talk now," Bilbo shouted in reply, "I'm going on an _adventure_!"

I laughed and raced after the hobbit, my feet pounding barefoot in the dust as we dashed out of Hobbiton.

Eventually both Bilbo and I ran out breath and we were forced to slow to a quick walk. We had left Hobbiton far behind, and now strode under the spreading branches of a young oak forest. The path was dark, damp earth that felt good on my sore feet. The day was warm, but under the shade of the oak boughs it was cool and refreshing. The pack on my back seemed to grow heavier with each step, but I did not complain.

"Can you really see the future?" Bilbo asked after we had been walking in silence for a few minutes.

"Yeah. Well," I bit the inside of my cheek, thinking about the best way to keep up the ruse. "I can only see some of it. Just a little. Just the bits that have to do with Thorin's quest."

"So, you can see everything that's going to happen? Can you see if we'll take back The Lonely Mountain?" Bilbo's voice was light and eager, obviously interested in the information.

Could I tell him? Would it cause a paradox? If I changed Thorin's path in the slightest, would that mess everything up? These questions were impossible to answer. I had to make a decision now, and stick to it. I thought for a long second, then decided that I would not meddle in the company's affairs. I would give a bit of cryptic guidance if asked for it, but I would not interfere with the goings on. It was best that way.

"No, I can't see that far," I finally said. "But I can see the little things. For example, it's going to rain today."

"Really?" Bilbo said as he looked up at the cloudless blue sky through the leaves. "It's as blue as can be up there."

I shrugged, "Just wait and see. Oh, I hear horses!"

Bilbo squinted down the path and, sure enough, he could see a line of horses trudging steadily down the forest path.

"Wait!" he cried, breaking out into a run, "Wait!"

I followed him, my backpack bouncing against my back with a rhythmic bump, bump, bump.

Finally we made it to the train of dwarves and Gloin, who road at the back of the procession, called the other dwarves to halt.

Panting, Bilbo and I made our way through the horses and dwarves to where Thorin and Gandalf sat astride their horses side by side. Well, Thorin's horse wasn't a horse really, more of a pony.

I patted the pony's nose with glee as Bilbo said, "I signed it, I signed it," and pulled a thick fold of paper out of his pocket. He handed it to Balin, who unfolded it and peered at it through his monocle lens.

Folding it back up the dwarf said, "Welcome, Bilbo, to the company of Thorin Oakenshield."

Bilbo smiled as the dwarves laughed or cheered, and I couldn't help but laugh along. My laugh was high and shrill,next to the deep laughs of the dwarves, and the sound seemed to surprise everyone into an awkward silence.

"So you came along," Thorin said, addressing me. "I did not think you would."

"I said I would, didn't I?" I huffed, "You can't leave me behind that easily."

I watched as Bofur and Kili hauled Bilbo into the saddle of a pony already laden with large sacks of supplies. I handed my backpack up, and it was secured to the saddle behind Bilbo.

"We've not a pony for you," Thorin said, following my gaze.

"I'll walk."

"The road is no place for a woman," he growled, exasperated. "A woman requires a soft bed, much clothing, feeding, hot water and privacy for bathing. We've non of these, and you cannot fight nor hunt. The road is riddled with thieves and orcs. This is no place for you!"

I heard a mutter of chatter among the other dwarves. I could not tell if they were agreeing with Thorin or not.

I closed my eyes and tried to put a leash on my anger. Now, back home I was known in my family for being a blazing women's equality supporter and Thorin's blatant sexism was kindling the embers of my deepest anger. I wanted desperately to slap the dwarf, but no, I couldn't do that.

Not yet, at least.

"Then don't think of me as a woman!" I shouted, "Think of me as a man if it bothers you so much. I can handle myself, you don't need to get your beard all in a twist."

And with that, I stalked off up the line of ponies to lead the way. I didn't look back, but I could practically feel Thorin's storming anger. I didn't care. I didn't make eye contact with any of the dwarves as I went, but as I noticed Kili staring at me. I met his gaze with a stony glare. He looked a bit shocked and quickly looked away, and I stomped off to the front of the line.

* * *

**Author's note: Thanks a lot for reading and, as always, thank you for the reviews! **


	4. Bree

The day was growing hot. My sleeves were rolled up past my elbows and my forehead was damp with sweat. My hair stuck to my face in small, itchy strands that reappeared no matter how many times I brushed them away. Now, being from Salt Lake City, heat was no stranger to me. Our summers often reached absurd temperatures, but I was not used to trekking through uneven terrain whilst plagued by the heat. Patches of shade help cool me, and the breeze blew pleasantly through the thin fabric of my tunic so, in all, the temperature was not unbearable.

I almost immediately regretted my decision to stomp off to the front of the procession, but my fierce anger would not let me admit that to myself. I had to walk quickly in order to stay ahead of the ponies and to tell the truth, I wasn't one-hundred-percent sure where I was headed. I pictured the map of The Shire in my head, and decided we were probably headed in the general direction of the Brandywine Bridge. Probably.

The awkward silence my furious exit left had finally worn away and I could hear the dwarves talking and laughing amongst themselves behind me. Even Gandalf joined in every now and then. I was left to myself. I had made it clear, whether I had meant to or not, that I did not want the company of the dwarves. I sighed. No. I had not made quite the entrance I had expected. I wished I had been accepted into the dwarves company with awe, respect and friendship. Perhaps with time I would earn those things, but just then they were woefully out of sight.

As we passed through a particularly dense stand of oaks, my stomach made a rather loud and embarrassing growl. I peered back over my shoulder, but no one appeared to have heard it. I fished in my pocket for the apple Bilbo had given me before our mad dash to meet the dwarves.

It was small, about the size of my fist and a splotched with red and green. I dusted it off on my tunic and took a bite. My teeth broke through the tough skin with a _pop_. My face wrinkled as the sour taste hit my tongue. It tasted just like the crab apples from my grandfather's backyard. I swallowed my bite with a bit of difficulty, then gave the apple an accusing stare.

_I guess in Middle-Earth they haven't learned to grow genetically sweetened apples yet_, I thought.

I finished the apple anyway, tossing the core into the woods and listening as it rattled through brush and brambles. I wiped my hands on my pants and noticed that Brandywine Bridge was in sight.

It was a small bridge, wide enough for a small cart and pony to cross. Was that small? Or was that large by Middle-Earth standards? I halted at the center of the bridge, looking out over the river that bubbled and splashed beneath me. Downriver I could see hobbits standing on the banks. Fishing, cleaning pots or clothes, gathering water in small buckets. With the birds around me chirping merrily, the sun hot on my neck and the fish reflecting light off their shining scales, I was happy. I was in Middle-Earth. Well, I was dreaming, but I was in a Middle-Earth that felt real enough to content me. This was the world I had been longing to visit and finally, with the Shire's breeze blowing through my hair, I had found it.

The horses soon caught up and I had to choose between staying ahead of them or letting them overtake me. I decided to remain ahead of the procession, not wishing to face the awkward silence I knew would be waiting for me in the company of the dwarves.

Also, I had to think about what to say to Gandalf. He had left me to my own devices since his words in Bag End, '_We must speak of this City of Salt Lake and your . . . unique abilities_'. Gandalf had spoken as if he knew something was up. He knew I was hiding something, and I suppose I didn't blame him. If a half-naked girl showed up on my doorstep during a secret meeting, I'd be suspicious too. But what was I to say to him? I couldn't tell him the truth, could I? There was nothing to say the wizard would even believe my tale.

I picked up my pace and strode once more out in front of the ponies. I followed the path as it opened up. The trees thinned out and gave way to farmland. Crops from corn to cabbages lined the path with only a wooden fence to keep passersby from snatching a vegetable or two. This line of thought lead me on to remember the Lord of the Rings, and I grinned to think that this was the very road Frodo and Sam would travel to take the One Ring to Mordor in fifty years time.

* * *

Bree was a lot farther from Hobbiton than I had originally thought. The farmland faded once more into forest with gently sloping hills on the horizon. By noon, my legs were shaking from exhaustion and my stomach growled with hunger. Neither the apple nor the bread Bilbo had given me seemed like much of a meal, and it soon became quite obvious that I was not accustomed to walking for such distances.

But I would not allow myself to rest any more than the dwarves did. I knew that if I showed any signs of being tired, Thorin would blame it on my being a woman and 'unsuited for such adventures'. Even thinking about it made me a bit angry and I funneled my temper into my legs, forcing them on one step at a time.

Not only was the walk physically exhausting, it was a bit lonely. With no one to talk to, the time seem to run on the long side. To occupy my mind, I began singing to myself. First I sang the more Tolkein-esque songs I knew, such as _Misty Mountains, The Road Goes Ever On, Edge of Night,_ etc, but I quickly exhausted my rather limited supply and found myself singing Carry On Wayward Son, mumbling when I couldn't remember the lyrics.

But, as the sun began to set and my voice grew hoarse from singing, the romanticism and excitement of being in Middle-Earth began to wear off. The sun was shining through the trees behind me, stretching out my shadow before me. I was sweaty and dirty, and the heat of the day was soon becoming a damp chill. Honestly, I had no idea where we were. By my reckoning we should have hit Bree ages ago, but still the path wandered through the woods as if it didn't plan on ending anytime soon. I found myself in the depths of a weepy exhaustion, not far from tears. I wanted to sit down. I wanted to curl up on a couch with a blanket and my headphones. I wanted a shower and hot food and the comforting murmur of the television in the background.

I was just contemplating sitting in the dirt right there in the middle of the road when the clop of hooves sounded close behind me. I turned, seeing Gandalf perched up on his horse. The horse nickered softly, her nostrils flaring. I looked up at Gandalf. The old wizard was offering me one gnarled hand, a soft smile hidden beneath his mustache. I stared at the hand, unsure what he expected of me.

"Grab hold, my dear," he said, "I think you've walked quite enough for one day. Grab hold."

Slowly, I took the proffered hand and with a strength that surprised me, Gandalf hauled me up to sit behind him on the horse. I sat just behind the saddle, my legs straddling the horse's bare back. Surprised, gripped Gandalf's robes to keep from slipping off the other side.

"Can the horse handle two riders?" I asked. My voice was quiet and sore, but even I could hear the relief it held.

"She is a strong beast, she will bare us for as far as we must go."

And with that, Gandalf nudged the horse into a walk and we continued down the path. I, like all young girls. had absolutely loved horses, but I had never ridden one before. The feeling of her muscles moving beneath me was a magical experience. However, the dwarves soon caught up to us and my suddenly bright mood dimmed once more. I avoided looking at any of them in particular, which wasn't too difficult considering my face was nearly buried in Gandalf's mass of robes. I thought I saw Ori and Dori riding beside us, and I could hear Balin, Dwalin and Thorin muttering amongst themselves behind me. I strained my ears, but could not hear what they said.

I couldn't have cared less, even if they spoke of me. The fact that I was no longer walking made me as happy as could be, and once again I began to admire my surroundings. The sun was setting in earnest now and the stars were peaking out of their twilight nest. I gazed up at them, my mouth hanging open.

"What is it, lass?" Said Fili in a joking manner, "Never seen the sky before?"

I kept my eyes on the stars, ignoring Fili's humor, "No, I've seen the sky. But these stars! Oh, I've never seen such stars!" And it was true. The stars cascaded over the night sky like a scattering of diamonds, twinkling and glowing with merry light that would make even the stars of Utah jealous.

"The stars?" Kili said, craning his neck to look up for himself.

I nodded, my gaze still fixed on the heavens, "Yeah. You can barely see the stars where I'm from."

"Where did you say you were from again?" Fili asked. I could tell he was looking at me by the prickle on my neck, but I didn't return his gaze.

"The City of Salt Lake," I replied cooly. I still wasn't sure of the angle I was going with all of this. I had already decided not to meddle in the dwarves' affairs, but what would I tell them of myself?

"Where is that?" Kili continued. "Is it near Dunland?"

"No, it's," I hesitated, "much further away than that," I finished lamely. "Much further away."

"Ah, here we are at last!" Gandalf cried, urging the horse to a trot. I peered around the wizard and saw on a small rise the glowing windows and smokey chimneys of what could only have been-

"Bree!" I said with excitement.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw both Kili and Fili give me strange looks, but I ignored them. We were finally to Bree.

As we reached the gates an old man in a cloak, with a beard that looked like it housed a family of lice, rose from where he perched on a small stool before the stables. Gandalf swung easily from the saddle, leaving me to slide awkwardly over the horse's side.

"-And oats, if you will," Gandalf was saying to the man who nodded, already reaching for the horse's reins.

"I'll see to it they get properly stabled, master. It might be a tight fit, I don't know that we have room for sixteen ponies," the man said.

"I'm sure you'll find room," Gandalf said and slipped the man a copper coin.

The man pocketed the money without hesitation and smiled, "Yes sir, I think I can find room for them."

Gandalf nodded in satisfaction, "There's a good man," and, followed by the thirteen dwarves and the befuddled hobbit, trudged his way through Bree.

I fell in step next to Bilbo, who seemed just as awed by Bree as I was. The road was mud, and it splashed under my feet. The houses were little wooden things with glass windows and sagging doors. They were small, but at least they were made with humans in mind. The streets were narrow, and a pure, ungodly stench hung over the place, making me cover my nose with a sleeve to avoid retching. The smell of rotting food, sewer, animals and too many people living too close together. People ran to and fro. Women in dresses with muddy hems and dirty aprons with baskets of cloth or goods in their arms, their hair tied back in braids, men in trousers and knee-high boots leading animals through the mud, all trying to get one last errand in before turning in for the night. The sound of activity permeated the air. The crackling of a torch, a splash of a boot in a puddle, the nicker of a horse or the mournful cry of a goat. The sounds of voices and laughter faded around us as folks stopped about their business to stare at thirteen dwarves, a hobbit, a wizard and a girl pass them by.

One thing I did notice was that, once again, everyone seemed fairly short. I peered around me but the tallest man I could see could not have been taller than myself. The women looked to be about 5'2'' at the tallest. I shook my head in confusion. I had heard people were shorter in the olden days, due to poor nutrition and the likes, but I had never thought it would apply to Middle-Earth. In the movies, everyone was tall and fair, covered with artful grime. Not here. Not these people.

Bilbo took this all in at the same time as I did, raising a hand to his face as he tried to get accustomed to the smell.

"And how are you after your first day of travel, Mr. Bilbo?" I asked, noticing how he walked with a slight limp.

"A tad stiff from the saddle, but well enough I suppose," he said. In a low voice he confided, "I'd do anything for a hot bath and meal right about now."

I chuckled and agreed with him, "I've never ridden a horse before. It's a bit more uncomfortable than I thought it would be."

Just then, I heard the tinkling of bells and I looked up to see the dwarves in front of me funneling through a door into The Prancing Pony. I nearly giggled, half from excitement half from exhausted hysteria.

The Prancing Pony's interior looked exactly as I had expected it to look. Tables filled the large space, given a warm glow by a myriad of candles and a blazing fire in the back fireplace. A bar stood near the door, surrounded by laughing men and women who were obviously deep in their cups.

As Thorin saw to the rooms and Bomber saw to the food, I saw nothing else to do but huddle near the fireplace in an attempt to clear the damp from my bones. I pulled up a chair and sat before the hearth, holding out my hands towards the flames.

I must have dozed off, because next thing I knew someone was nudging my leg with a booted foot. I opened my eyes, blearily wiping away sleep-haze to see Bomber, offering me a plate of something. My stomach grumbled in recognition of an edible substance.

I took the plate quickly, "Thanks a lot, Bomber. This is just what I needed."

Bomber smiled under his massive ginger mustache and wobbled off, balancing many more dishes in his hands. I watched as he continued to distribute them amongst the dwarves before looking down at my own plate. A large hunk of dark brown bread, a bunch of grapes and a slice of white cheese. A large cup had been set by my side at the table, as well.

I took up the cup first, sniffing it carefully before daring to drink. Just as well that I did; as I sniffed the sharp, sickly smell of harsh alcohol hit my nose. I hastily put the cup down, not even tempted to taste the stuff.

I took up the bread and cheese and ate them, occasionally popping a grape into my mouth. This food was better than my breakfast of bread and apple simply because there was more of it. This was not a hobbit sized meal, for which I was very grateful.

I finished my meal quietly, listening as the dwarves drank and ate and laughed heartily amongst themselves. They were having a veritable party, with empty cups and mugs scattered over the long table around which they sat. Even Thorin was on his third or fourth cup of ale and was grinning mildly. I imagined they were all rather excited to finally be embarking on the quest to take back their old home.

I scowled as I noticed one party member was missing. I didn't see Gandalf's silver head towering over the dwarves. Just as this thought entered my mind, there was a heavy sigh and the creaking of wood as the wizard sat down beside me. Shadows stood dark and quavering in the folds of Gandalf's robes, and the firelight shone in his eyes.

"Good evening, Marceline. I trust you're doing well?" He said, setting down two mugs on the table and pushing one towards me. "Tea," he added when he noticed my doleful look.

I took the cup gratefully, sipping at the hot brew. It was a black tea that had steeped too long, but it was laden with honey and at that moment it tasted like heaven.

"Thanks," I said earnestly. "I'm doing okay, how are you?"

"Oh, fine, fine," Gandalf mumbled, taking his own mug in his hands. The smell of hot, sweet wine wafted towards me. "I've come to ask about your power," he said, broaching the subject. "Where is it that you are from?"

I licked my lips and took a breath, "I'm from Salt Lake City."

When Gandalf spoke his voice was quiet, but no less intense, "I am not familiar with that place, it must be quite a ways off."

"It is," I nodded.

"Then how is it that a young girl makes her way all the way to The Shire without a guide, a horse, or even food?"

I choked on my tea and coughed for a moment as I tried to get my scrambled thoughts together. God, Gandalf was nosy.

"I was robbed by bandits in-" I thought quickly, spitting out the first name that came into my mind, "-Ered Luin."

Gandalf's eyes narrowed. He knew something was up. "And you walked all the way to The Shire? Very commendable."

I nodded but said nothing, sipping at my tea.

"And you gained the power of foresight in Salt Lake City?"

I nodded again, "I had good teachers."

"And why have you come here?" Gandalf's eyes held mine with a gaze as steely and intense as a sharpened knife, "Have you come all this way only to accompany Thorin Oakenshield to Erebor?"

"I-" I stuttered, "It's my duty as a fortune teller to-to help Thorin on his quest. There is a lot at stake." Before Gandalf could begin to reply, I stood and set my mug aside, "I think I need to sleep. Do we have rooms here?"

Gandalf nodded, but eyes were still narrowed in obvious suspicion, "Up the stairs and first door to the right. I'm sorry to say you'll be sharing a room with the rest of the dwarves. Thorin insisted that you be treated as the rest of them."

I bit my lip, regretting my earlier outburst even more.

"Though, there's washing water up in the room. If you're quick, it may still be hot," Gandalf added, the earlier coldness gone from his voice.

I thanked Gandalf for the tea and, giving the dwarves one last look, headed for the stairs. They were still drinking away. Kili and Ori were both obviously sopping drunk. Ori's nose was a bright red, as was Kili's cheeks. Kili must have noticed me going upstairs because he raised one hand in a grand wave. He nearly fell from his chair doing so, but he didn't notice.

"Goodnight, fair lady of the company," he said boisterously, laughing. The others joined in, laughing and waving in very high spirits. Thorin didn't even look my way, but took a long draft from his mug.

Not knowing what else to do, I waved back and hurried up the stairs to the room.

The room in question was long, with five or six narrow beds lining the walls. Thorin must have gotten at least two rooms, because there was no way sixteen people were fitting in there, dwarves or no. A branch of candles was lit, and I saw a large pitcher and basin set on a low table. I crossed the room and put a hand over the pitcher. The water was hot.

I poured water in the basin and, with a clean cloth I found draped over the table, washed my face and arms. It felt amazingly good to wipe away the sweat and dust of the road. I set about scraping as much of the remaining mud from my feet. They were sore, the skin almost raw from walking so far without shoes.

A window hung over the table and through the foggy glass I could see that night had truly fallen. Only an occasional streetlamp illuminated the dark streets. Nothing stirred in the dark streets of Bree.

I thought about Kili's wave and laugh and wondered what he meant by them. I had read as many Kili/OC fanfictions as the next girl, and who could blame me? I mean, compared to all of the other hairy dwarves, Kili was downright pretty. However, now that I had encountered him in person, reality hit me hard in the gut. Not only was he a good foot and a half shorter than I, he was sixty years older than me. Sixty years. He could have been my grandfather. Not to mention he was a dwarf. He would live on long after I died, and that never turns out well for anyone involved.

My heart twisted suddenly in my chest as I realized.

I had read The Hobbit many times over and I was only all too familiar with the fate of the young heir of Durin. He wouldn't live on, would he?

* * *

**Thanks for reading and double thanks for reviewing! **

**Thanks especially to ****Lady Of Lake - Town****! Your review was so kind, thank you so much! ^^**


	5. Unfortunate Lessons

I learned many things on that second night in Middle-Earth. I'm sad to say that most of them were things I would rather not know. Thorin made good on his word and did his best to treat me like any other dwarf, which meant sleeping among them.

After my scrub I went straight to the bed closest to the window. I was exhausted from the day of travel and wondered how on earth I would manage the next day. The mattress I chose was thin and stuffed with, I was surprised to see, hay. The yellow stalks poked through the sheet, which itself was mysteriously stained, to spear me in the back and make me itch like crazy. Eventually I gave up trying to pull out all of the prodding stems and lay on my back, gazing out the window into the night sky.

Even in Bree the stars could be seen. The sky honestly took my breath away and made my heart overflow with a joy I hadn't felt in too long. The euphoria was somewhat dampened however by my face-slapping realization about Fili, Kili and Thorin. While Thorin was a pig, I didn't want him to die. He was still Thorin Oakenshield, and a dwarf to be looked up to and respected. Not to mention Fili and Kili were both children by dwarf standards. I thought of Kili's promise token and couldn't help but teared up. I wiped the unshed tears away with an angry fist, and I think that is when I first began to truly question my oath of non-interference.

Two or three hours after I retired to my straw bed, I had just begun to doze off. Straw in my back or no, I was beyond tired and not even my worried thoughts could keep me awake any longer. Just as I was slipping into honest slumber, the door to the room opened and several sets of lumbering boots trudged in along with an almost overpowering stench of alcohol.

The boots halted suddenly, and I heard someone shush the others in a whisper before continuing on, sounding as if they were trying to tip-toe. I lay face up, but didn't open my eyes to see who it was I'd be sharing quarters with. I was touched that they were trying to be considerate and not wake me. They were whispering amongst themselves, and I tried to get my sleep-fuzzed mind to focus enough to listen in on them.

"She's asleep, the wee lamb," said one voice. From his accent, I guessed it was Bofur. "Did you see her all day trying to keep ahead? Poor thing."

"Bomber's taking bets, see how long she lasts," said Balin.

Dori spoke up, "Something's fishy, I say. Something's not natural about her."

"D'you think she's a witch?" Said Ori in a squeaky voice that slurred drunkenly.

"Don't be a fool, Ori," Bofur said. "Gandalf said it's none of our business."

"Having her travel with us makes it our business, Bofer," Dwalin said, "Balin, surely you can't believe this is a good idea. Who knows who this lass is? Did you see the way she was dressed? She isn't from around here."

"She said she was from far away-" Bofur began to say, but was cut off by Dwalin's sharp whisper.

"I've never heard of, what was it, Salt Lake? It's utter foolishness. We can't have have a little girl risking this venture."

"And that little girl is a risk?" Bofur said sarcastically, "If a little girl is a risk to our quest then there isn't much hope for us."

"And if a band of thieves attack us? What then? Should we risk our lives to save her?" Dwalin spat.

"What about her _powers_ then, eh? Do you really think she can see the future?" Dori asked.

Bofur sighed, "Who can say? You heard what she said back at Bilbo's."

"That would be a useful skill to have, no matter what we say," Balin admitted.

"She could really help us, don't you think?" Bofur said. "She could steer us clear of bandits. I bet she could even save us from a band of orcs."

For a time there was only the sound of gentle rustling as the dwarves readied themselves for bed. Ori began snoring softly. The dwarf must have been painfully drunk to fall asleep that fast. I wasn't so sure I could save the dwarves from anything, but by God I would try.

"Either way," Dwalin said, "Thorin doesn't approve of her presence."

"That's beyond any of us," Balin said.

The conversation then shifted to other things. The ale, the food, the beds. They spoke for only a few more minutes before one by one they joined Ori in the chorus of snoring. Finally the last dwarf dropped off and I was left to my thoughts. Or, what I could hear of them anyway. The snoring was quite _astonishingly_ loud, but somehow I managed to slip off once more into sleep.

Now, I said earlier I had leaned several things during my night at the inn. The beds were filled with hay that was, while clean, not comfortable to sleep in. The second rather unfortunate thing I learned was that indoor plumbing had not been invented and in it's place was, I dread to remember, a chamber pot. I'll spare you the uncomfortable details, but I'll say it was definitely not the most sanitary thing I'd seen. _Or used_. I'm sorry, I promise I won't say anything more about it.

The next morning I awoke to Bilbo shaking my shoulder gently. My eyes stubbornly refused to stay open, but eventually I managed to wrestle them up with a sheer force of will that I did not feel. It was still dark outside, but it was not the deep blue-blackness of night. The hazy, misty grey of morning. Drops of condensation gathered on the inside of the window and glistened.

"Bilbo," I said, "Good morning."

"Good morning, Ms. Marceline, but please do get up. I'm afraid the dwarves really are bent on leaving you behind. They're taking breakfast now, if you hurry-"

At the word _'breakfast_' I bolted upright and flung off my blankets. I was determined not to miss breakfast. Not again. The dwarves were indeed gone, their beds mussed and wrinkled but most definitely empty. The soreness in my muscles ground me to a squeaky stop, and I groaned.

"Thank you for waking me, I'll be down in a minute."

Bilbo nodded, hurrying out of the room to give me privacy.

The door closed behind him with a_ click_ and I sat for a moment before hauling myself to my feet. My thighs and hips ached and my feet burned in contact with the cool wood of the floor. My hair was a horrible tangle and my teeth felt mossy. I would have killed for my toothbrush. My clothes were wrinkled from sleeping in them. I saw there was a fresh, steaming pitcher of water sitting on the low table and I thanked God for that wonderful, considerate hobbit. I washed my face and hands and rubbed my fingers over my teeth in an attempt to rid the morning taste from my mouth.

After my scrub I felt quite a bit better. My legs still felt weak, but my hair was once again in order and my mouth no longer tasted like a swamp. I was ready to go.

I pounded down the stairs and found the inn nearly empty. There were maybe two or three patrons besides the dwarves, scarfing down a quick breakfast before heading out into the damp morning. The thirteen dwarves, Bilbo and Gandalf sat about the room, sitting apart simply because there was no table large enough to seat them all.

The hearth glowed with the remains of last night's fire, and Gandalf sat at a table before it. Seeing me, he waved me over. Hesitantly, I moved to the table. Bofor, Ori and Dori sat with him also, shoveling food into their mouths.

"Good morning," Gandalf said as I sat at the table, "I suppose you'll be wanting breakfast." Gandalf waved at the waitress and she swooped by, dropping a plate of bread and eggs and bacon in front of me.

"G'morning, Gandalf, Bofor, Dori, Ori," I said, greeting each dwarf while raising a spoon of eggs to my mouth. They were a little bland, but I wasn't about to complain. At this point, any food was good food.

The dwarves mumbled good-morning's around their breakfast, and I smiled. Over Gandalf's shoulder I had a good view of Thorin, eating his eggs with Fili, Kili and Balin beside him. Balin said something and Thorin laughed, nearly dropping his spoon. I hadn't known he could laugh like that, and it made me grin. I hadn't yet seen this side of Thorin. The humorous, decent side of him. Then Thorin caught me staring, and his smile was replaced with a look of grim contempt. God, how I wanted to smack that look off his face.

Kili suddenly stood, his chair scraping along the wooden floor as it was pushed back. Balin said something and Kili shook his head. Fili laughed, and Kili set off towards me with a determined expression. I watched, chewing silently as he approached. I nearly dropped my spoon as he walked right up to me, stopping not an arm's length from where I sat. Still he didn't meet my eyes, looking instead at the ceiling above my head.

"Good morning, Kili," I said, not sure what he wanted. To be honest, even looking at him made my heart sink. I had to do something. Could I do something? Should I do something to stay his fate?

My thoughts were interrupted as Kili said, "Good morning. I feel. . . . I feel I must apologize for the way I behaved last night."

I was shocked, but before I could say anything he went on.

"I spoke to you with disrespect, and I have treated you with dishonor," he gave a slight, quick bow, "Please forgive me."

"Oh, Kili," I said. I almost laughed but didn't, trying to spare the dwarf's dignity, "It's okay, really. Don't worry about it. You did me no dishonor."

Without saying anything, Kili nodded,and all but ran for the safety of his table. Fili continued to laugh at his brother, slapping him on the shoulder as Kili hunched in his chair. Thorin's glower deepened and I looked away before he could meet my eyes once more.

Beside me, Bofur let out a knowing chuckle that was echoed by everyone at the table. I blushed, feeling the heat rise to my face. Bofur thought that I-that Kili- No. There wasn't going to be anything between us, I had decided that the night before.

So, to mask my discomfort I shoved my mouth full of bacon.

Ten minutes later the dwarves were gathering their things and pushing towards the door. I had refused to say anything more at the table, so Gandalf and the dwarves chatted away about the weather and the length of the day's travel. From my plate I took the bread, tucking it into my pocket. Again, I didn't know when the next meal would come or where it would come from. Best to be prepared.

* * *

Outside the mist hung heavy and cool in the air. My skin was soon damp, and I glanced longingly at Gandalf's huge cloak. If the weather got any colder, I wasn't sure what I would do. Freeze, I supposed. I simply added it to my list of worries and walked on. We trudged through the muddy Bree streets to the stables where the same old man from the night before was sleeping in a pile of hay, a bottle hanging in his loose grasp.

"Drunken sot," I heard Gandalf mutter to himself as he unlatched the gate. The dwarves streamed in to the tiny paddock only to come quickly out again with a pony in tow.

I waited patiently for the dwarves to ready themselves, half listening to their merry chatter as I took in the view. The night had obscured the countryside the night before, but in the hazy morning I took in the gently rolling, forested hills that surrounded us. A path lead to the east and west respectively. To the east I could see nothing but more forest. I couldn't remember how large the Old Forest was, and wondered how much longer we would travel under it's shady canopy of leaves.

I was trying to remember what happened next in the movie. It wasn't exactly clear how many days of travel it took the dwarves to get to Rivendell. At least three days, if I remembered correctly. Two nights in the wilderness.

"Marceline, here."

I spun to see Gandalf standing with two horses in tow. One was his own horse, lipping at his fingers while another smaller horse stood sedately by his side. I recognized it as one of the dwarves' fifteen ponies. The creature had been piled high with luggage the day before, but was now relatively free except for a pack or two tied behind the beast's saddle.

"It would be faster if you rode, I think," The wizard said, handing the reins off to me. I took them, staring at the pony with amazement.

"Thank you, Gandalf," I stuttered, my knees nearly giving way with relief, "Do you think it can carry me?" The pony itself was a bit smaller than Gandalf's horse, but sturdier. Wider.

"Her name is Swish-Tail, and of course she will carry you. You're no heavier than the baggage she carried yesterday. Climb on up, there you go. Do you know how to ride?"

"No," I said, settling myself in the saddle. I gripped the reins awkwardly, trying to mimic what I had seen in the movies.

Gandalf mounted his own horse and showed me the basics of horsemanship. When he seemed satisfied with my level of skill, he nudged his horse off onto the east road.

Thorin passed me on his own pony, not even giving me a second glance. He was obviously unhappy with the turn of events, but Gandalf seemed to be amused by Thorin's disagreeable expression. I followed Gandalf, nudging Swish-Tail with my knees as the old wizard had shown me. The lovely little pony eased into a gentle walk, making me sway back and forth with the rhythm of her movement.

I can tell you, there is nothing better than a pony ride through the forest on a cool morning, with the sun already burning away the mists and drying the damp from the air. A slight breeze ran it's fingers through my hair and the green, growing smell of the woods was all around me. I found that I hardly needed to steer Swish-Tail; she found her own path around stones and tree limbs and followed the other ponies in the right direction.

Bilbo came up beside me. He smiled, and I realized that I myself was grinning like an idiot.

"It's a beautiful morning," I said by way of explanation.

"It is indeed," Bilbo craned his neck to look up through the canopy of leaves, "You told me yesterday that it was going to rain."

"Oh," I said, realizing I had indeed said that. Inwardly I cursed. I would have to be more careful about the whole future-telling business. "I guess I must have been off a bit. Today though. It will rain today for sure."

Bilbo grinned, "If you say so, Marceline."

"Come on, Bilbo! It will for sure! Mark my words!"

"Tell me of the future, Seer," said Thorin as his pony came up beside me. A wry smile twisted his lips and his eyes were bright with amusement, "What do you see?"

To my other side, Bilbo rolled his eyes, no doubt frustrated with Thorin's obvious provocation. Well, I wasn't one to back down from a good fight anyway.

"What do you want to know, Master Dwarf?" I asked politely.

"Will I eat tonight, or will Bomber eat us all into starvation before we reach The Misty Mountains?" He asked, his voice lilting with humor. I could hear chuckles down the line of ponies, and Bomber especially broke out into raucous laughter.

"I just might, at that!" The large dwarf cried.

Anger rose up in me for the umpteenth time. I had just about had it with Oakenshield. I did not bother answering.

"Let her alone, Thorin. You do yourself shame." Gandalf said, "Get on, and lead your company."

Thorin gave Gandalf an amused look before prodding on his pony, weaving through the others until he reached the head of the line.

"Thanks, Gandalf," I said, breathing a quiet sigh of relief. "I don't know why he does that. He treats me like I'm less than everyone else. Like I'm a helpless baby who'll only slow you down."

Kili came up beside me, "How old are you, anyway? No offense meant," he added quickly.

I laughed, my mood lightening at his slight panic. I was beginning to like Kili. Not in any romantic sense, not at all. But he was one of the only dwarves who chose to speak to me, and that alone raised him a few levels above the rest.

"I'm seventeen."

"Seventeen!" Kili said with an amused chortle, "No wonder Thorin sees you as young! You're but a wee babe! I nearly forgot how young you all are."

I gasped in mock horror, "Excuse me? I am nearly an adult!"

"And so am I, but here I am at seventy-seven!"

It was my turn to laugh, "You're older than my grandpa."

Kili's smile fell, but froze before it could fade entirely, "Yes. There are many differences between Dwarves and Men."

His tone was soft and regretful. I hoped to high heaven that Kili wasn't hitting on me.

"I am not a man," I said, slightly irked.

"Oh!" Kili waved his hands in a flustered way, his pony's reins flying about wildly, "No, of course you're not. No, I did not mean it like that. I meant the Race of Men. Not to say that you are a man. . ." He let his eyes drop, pressing his lips together to form a pale line.

"In my world, we're called Humans."

"Humans. Very well. There are many differences between Dwarves and Humans," Kili amended.

Before I could say anything more, the sky, which had grown dark and cloudy, let out a crack of thunder. As if on cue, the rain began to fall as if it never intended to stop. The trees, which had grown small and young as the day progressed, did nothing to protect the company from the downpour. The leaves and ferns rustled as the droplets struck them, making it sound as though a river ran close by. While the other dwarves had hoods and cloaks to keep them relatively dry, I had no such thing and was drenched completely in mere minutes.

I gave Bilbo a knowing smirk, and he grimaced up at the sky. Thorin, on the other hand, looked shocked that my 'prediction' had come true. A feeling of satisfaction rose in me, and I looked forward to proving Thorin Oakenshield wrong again.

"Mr. Gandalf, can't you do something about this deluge?" Dori asked over the low rush of the rain.

"It is raining, Master Dwarf," Said Gandalf in reply, "And it will continue to rain until the rain is done."

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**Thanks for reading, and double thanks for reviewing! Every single review means a lot to me! **

**Now, there is something I must address. In the last chapter, near the very end when she's thinking about the dwarves, I made a typo. I wrote 'Fili' instead of 'Kili'. T.T I have since righted the errors, but I apologize. Thirteen dwarves are a lot to keep track of. ^^  
**


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